


Words That Burn

by still_lycoris



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Burns, Community: hc_bingo, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fights, Gen, Hangover, Injury, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:25:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8269129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: When a hungover Charles picks an arguemt with Hank. He doesn't expect Hank to argue back, nor does he expect what will come of that argument ...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt "burns"

The fight was particularly stupid.

It wouldn’t have happened if Charles hadn’t been hungover. But then, he was always hungover or drunk these days. There wasn’t room for anything else.

So he was hungover and looking forward to changing that status back to drunk. Except that Hank was there and he always looked so sad when Charles drank with breakfast so Charles gritted his teeth, took painkillers with orange juice (“It’s got vitamin C, Charles. You need it. Please?”) and tried to look like he was enjoying his toast as opposed to shredding it into tiny bits.

Of course, Hank knew, just as he always knew and when Charles pushed his plate away, almost untouched, Hank gave a small sigh.

That was all. It happened often. Hank was unhappy and he didn’t always hide it. Nothing to get upset about. And yet something about that little sigh caught at Charles’s mind and his head was aching and his mouth felt disgusting and suddenly, he was irritated.

“ _What?_ ”

“I ... I just wish you’d eat a bit more ... ” Hank said, sounding sad. The tone didn’t cool Charles’s anger, it just inflamed it.

“It’s none of your business, Hank.”

“Yes, it is,” Hank said. “I mean, I am taking care of you – ”

“I don’t need a fucking nanny!”

Hank said nothing. But the look in his eyes was clear and Charles didn’t need his old powers to know what he was thinking.

 _Yes you do_.

And it was enraging. How _dared_ Hank presume to know what Charles needed? How _dared_ Hank act as though Charles were a child? And it was easy to feel angry, easy to let it rush through him to think or feel anything else ...

“I never _asked_ you to interfere!” he snarled. “I never _asked_ you to stay here!

“No, I know that!” Hank said, sounding bewildered and that was even more annoying because why did Hank have to accommodating? Why did he have to be so _nice?_

“So don’t play the fucking martyr when I don’t do what you want me to do!”

“I _don’t!_ Charles, please, this is ridiculous ... ”

“No, I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous, Hank. What’s ridiculous is the way you hover around me, acting as though you’re my father instead of an ex-student!”

To his very slight surprise, he saw Hank’s cheek twitch slightly. Obviously, what he was actually getting to him. And that should have made Charles stop, he knew it should but instead, he found himself stepping closer, lifting his chin, staring at Hank as though he wanted to start a fight.

“I am not a child, Hank. I do not need babying by someone like _you_.”

“Someone like _me?_ ” Hank was shaking more now. “And what’s wrong with _me_ exactly? What’s wrong with everything that I’ve done for you?”

“I never asked you to do anything for me!”

“Well, what would you have done if I hadn’t?!” Hank snapped. “What the hell would you have done if I wasn’t here, Charles? You _need_ me!”

“I don’t fucking need you! I don’t need anybody! _You’re_ the one who just doesn’t have anywhere to go!”

Hank got to his feet so abruptly that he knocked his chair over. He was shaking and for a second, Charles saw a glitter of yellow in those normally peaceful eyes.

“I had three job offers in the last month,” Hank said in a low voice. “Not things that I was looking for either. People who wanted _me_. So don’t you dare suggest that I’m here because I can’t do anything else. I am here because you’re supposed to be my friend!”

He stalked out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. Charles stormed over to the cupboard and grabbed the first bottle of whiskey that he could lay hands on, cracking open the seal and taking a swig straight from the bottle, closing his eyes as he felt the familiar, comforting burn in his throat, all the way down to his stomach.

Fuck Hank. Fuck Hank and his nagging and his demands and his sad little expressions. He didn’t need that. He didn’t need any of that. He could make the serum himself if he had to, he didn’t need Hank hanging around fussing and moaning about how Charles needed to eat more and all the other crap that Hank always insisted he had to do ...

He took another gulp of the whiskey, trying to get rid of the cold feeling in his stomach. Because what if Hank _did_ leave? What if Hank left and he was all alone? He would have nobody and he didn’t want to be alone, he didn’t and he _did_ like Hank, Hank was his friend. Why had he said all those things? Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut? Why was he so stupid?

How had this happened to him? How had he become this person? He was irrational and ridiculous and everything he’d just said had been so awful. _He_ was awful.

Oh God, what if Hank left? What would he do then? He’d be on his own, he’d have nobody and he didn’t want to be alone, he _needed_ Hank, he did, he liked Hank, he’d fucked up, he’d fucked up ...

He drank more whiskey, letting the heat spread through him, comforting, soothing. The drink helped, it was the only thing that helped with almost everything these days. Charles was fucked up, he knew he was fucked up. He knew that beyond all doubt. But he didn’t know how to fix it any more. Everything seemed out of his control, everything seemed pointless and it had done for so long. He couldn’t think of what to do except to just carry on.

He ought to apologise to Hank. He knew that much. If he went and said he was sorry, if he was apologetic enough, Hank might not leave. Hank might stay with him, he might ...

He’d drunk enough whiskey that everything felt blurry around the edges now and it took a little longer to make it to Hank’s lab than it probably should have done. He was leaning against the wall, staring vaguely at the ceiling and trying to get his thoughts in order when he heard Hank cry out.

Charles dropped the bottle and ran into the lab. Hank was hunched over a sink, hand thrust beneath it, making soft gasping noises of agony, clearly trying to fight transformation.

“Hank?!”

“I’m fine,” Hank rasped. “I’m fine, it’s just a burn, it’s fine, could, could you get me some serum, if I transform it’ll make it worse ... ”

Charles felt as though everything was moving far too slowly. He stood for long, long seconds, mind spinning, not able to think where Hank kept his own supply of serum, not able to think of anything except that Hank was hurt, Hank was in pain and he had to do something, he _had_ to but instead he was standing here being _useless_ ...

Then he realised that he was moving, that he was pulling open a drawer in Hank’s filing cabinet, pulling out a syringe, running to Hank’s side. Hank was whimpering softly, flashes of blue fur rippling over his skin. Charles carefully manipulated his arm, injecting him with all gentleness that his shaking hands could muster.

“I’ll get your burn kit,” he whispered. “Just keep it under the water. I’m sorry, Hank. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault ... ”

“No, it’s not,” Hank said, sounding genuinely confused. “Why would you think that?”

“I upset you, I was awful, you were distracted ...I’m so sorry, Hank, you’re my friend, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it ... ”

“I, it’s not your fault,” Hank said, wincing as Charles took his hand out from the water to look at it. “It’s not, Charles, I should have been paying more attention – ”

“You weren’t paying attention because of _me_.”

Hank didn’t say anything, which Charles took as assent. He peered at the burn, trying to get his brain into gear. It wasn’t too bad, he had seen worse but it had to be painful and he didn’t want Hank in pain, he didn’t want that, not ever ...

“You’ll be fine,” he said and was pleased that he sounded confident, almost in control. “It’s quite all right. Just hold yourself still, we’ll get this sorted.”

“Thank you,” Hank said. He was shaking slightly, his hand back under the water. Charles swallowed again and went to fetch the burn kit. His hands were shaking slightly and he wondered if it was the fear or the alcohol. God, this was all his fault ...

“All right, Hank. Just try and stay relaxed for me.”

“It should be fine now I’ve taken the serum,” Hank said but Charles saw him grimace sharply when the hand was taken out of the water. He began to dry the hand as carefully as he could, suddenly wishing that he had his powers, that he could soothe Hank’s mind while doing this. Make it so that nothing hurt ... but the that was impossible. Everything hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please,” Hank said. “It’s all right, Charles, I promise. Don’t ... you don’t have to blame yourself.”

“But it’s my fault.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t blame yourself for things other people do.”

Hank said it quietly and when Charles looked up, he saw his friend wasn’t looking at him. Charles looked back at Hank’s injured hand, focusing on that. He didn’t know what to say. He was still half-drunk and scared and he hated seeing Hank hurt and it _was_ his fault, no matter what Hank said because of what he had become.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered, applying the dressing with hands as careful as he could make them. “Hank, please, I don’t – ”

“I don’t want to leave,” Hank interrupted him. “Charles, I don’t ... I don’t want to go, I ... I just ... ”

He stopped speaking, perhaps because Charles had put his arms around him and was leaning into him. They hadn’t touched much since Charles had started using the serum and no longer needed assistance. Leaning against somebody like this had become almost alien and Charles hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it. He hid his face his Hank’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of another human. Hank stroked his back with uncertain fingers and for the first time in a long time, Charles wished he had his telepathy so he could know what Hank was thinking.

“I just want you to be all right,” Hank whispered, as though _he_ were the one hearing Charles’s thoughts. “Charles, I just want you to be all right!”

“I will be,” Charles said. “As long as you’re here, I’ll be all right, Hank.”

It wasn’t true. He knew that it wasn’t true, that it was so much more complicated than that, that the world was falling apart at the seams and that eventually, something would give and everything left in the world would shatter into irreparable pieces. But he couldn’t see how to do anything about that. What he could see was that right then, all he needed was Hank and if Hank was there, somehow, nothing would hurt quite so badly.

“I won’t go anywhere,” Hank promised. “I’m not going to leave you, Charles. I’m never going to leave you.”

Charles gave a tiny sigh of desperate relief. He had a feeling that he ought to be ashamed, that he ought to let Hank leave, go somewhere better than this, live a better life.

But he couldn’t. He _couldn’t_.

He needed Hank. That was all there was to it. He couldn’t let him go. He wasn’t a good enough man to do it. Perhaps he never had been.

He could only hope than when everything finally shattered, Hank would be able to escape relatively unscathed.


End file.
